


Evidence

by literaryspell



Category: White Collar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-08
Updated: 2010-09-08
Packaged: 2017-11-03 02:26:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/376073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryspell/pseuds/literaryspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> "You belong to me, now," Peter said. He didn’t even try to hide the smile, the triumph in his voice at his words. "Say it."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Evidence

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://afiawri.livejournal.com/profile)[**afiawri**](http://afiawri.livejournal.com/)\--Thank you so much, hun!  
> 

 

Peter slid his fingers beneath the collar on Neal's neck. All his work, all his effort, and finally Neal had accepted his gift.

Neal's protestations had, of course, made perfect sense. It was too much like the anklet. It could be dangerous, could give people information that Neal didn’t want anyone to have. He didn’t want to be tied down so _literally._

Then, after Peter had let it go and resolved to be content with what Neal gave of himself, Neal had just… asked for it. And he'd let Peter collar him just like that.

Of course, there was no _just like that_ about it. Everything Neal did and said came with a caveat, a price tag, something held against Peter in the future. For now, though, he would enjoy his prize, his possession.

"Tight enough?" Peter asked, tugging on the collar.

He felt Neal's Adam's apple slide under his knuckles. "Yeah," Neal rasped. His eyes were searching Peter's as if—for once—uncertain.

"Yeah, it is," Peter agreed. He pulled Neal forward, hard—Neal had no choice but to fall against Peter's chest. He didn’t even bring his hands up to stop himself. Oh, yes, Peter thought. _He's mine._

"Feel good to have a real home, Neal?" Peter spoke as he undressed Neal, letting go of the collar even though he wished he never had to. Soon, Neal was naked save for two things: his anklet and his collar. The blood in Peter's cock fairly pounded at the sight. He _owned_ Neal. He'd captured him, trained him, he knew Neal's every move, and now Neal was admitting it. Perfect.

"I've always had a home," Neal said. He let Peter push him over to the wall. Peter watched him swagger, hips swaying and ass bouncing—Neal knew exactly what he did to Peter.

"No, you haven’t." Peter shoved him against the wall and again Neal didn’t try to stop the action. His chest met the wall and his hands came up like an afterthought. "You might have had houses and places you lived but you've never had a home until now."

Neal didn’t answer, only dropped his head against the wall. It was subtle, but Peter knew where to look: the long length of his spine curved in minutely, pushing his ass out; his legs spread and the way he shifted meant he was uncomfortable but not enough to tell Peter to stop. Not nearly enough.

"You belong to me, now," Peter said. He didn’t even try to hide the smile, the triumph in his voice at his words. "Say it."

"I'm yours, Peter," Neal said. His fingers came up to touch the collar. It was black, leather, very expensive—nothing but the best and Neal knew Peter had spared nothing in getting him exactly what he deserved. "I belong to you."

The words awakened something in Peter, something primal and usually buried except when it came to Neal. Stepping up behind him, Peter ran his hands over Neal's back, his behind, the backs of his thighs—and then around his body, bypassing his cock, caressing his ribs, then up to his neck where he _held._

He wanted to fuck Neal—when didn’t he?—but this wasn’t about him. He shoved two fingers past Neal's already parted lips. "Get them wet," he said, grinding his trouser-covered crotch against Neal's ass. God, he wanted to fuck him.

Neal's tongue worked his fingers, not teasing because it wasn’t about that. Peter withdrew them and Neal tried to follow, turning his head to try to see Peter. Neal always had to know everything—this time, Peter would surprise him.

He found Neal's hole with no effort—the way Neal was arched presented it perfectly. He pressed two fingers in at once, knowing Neal could take it, _had_ to take it.

Neal made the most delicious sound, halfway between a groan and a cry, a sound torn from his throat.

"Shh…" Peter kissed and licked his ear as his fingers moved inside him. "I've got you."

"Peter," Neal whispered, not a plea, nothing more than a need for acknowledgement.

"It's okay, baby," Peter said. He went in deeper and found Neal's prostate, brushing against it in torturous strokes. He knew what Neal really wanted, what he needed, but this was better. This was how Neal fell apart.

Neal exhaled sharp little breaths of air every time Peter hit his sweet spot. He took to tapping against it, the action making Neal twitch and groan.

"Harder," Neal said. His hips were moving now, grinding forward like he wanted to fuck. Peter reached around and grabbed his prick. It was hard and dripping. He stroked slowly, in time with his fingers thrusts.

"Harder, what?"

"Harder, Peter," Neal said. Peter stopped all movement. Neal inhaled shakily. "Harder, sir."

Peter shoved his fingers in deep, his knuckles grinding against Neal's hole. He wanted his whole hand in, his hand and his cock and whatever else he could find because he _could,_ this was _his_ body now, and Neal would _take_ it—

Neal cried out, and Peter raised an eyebrow when he felt Neal coming. The cock in his hand thickened and shot, seed spilling onto the wall, the floor, Peter's hand. His asshole tightened rhythmically with the force of his orgasm.

It was _all his_. Peter leaned in and bit down on Neal's shoulder, teeth clamping down in the millimetre before puncturing the skin. Neal gave a soft gasp—that was it. He was shaking, but he kept his hands on the wall in front of it. When Peter released him, he seemed to melt. There was a livid bruise on Neal's neck, just below the collar, in the shape of Peter's teeth.

"You really are mine," Peter said, awe in his voice.

"Evidently," Neal said, catching his breath.

Peter laughed. "But you know what I always say," he said, taking his fingers from Neal's still-clutching hole. "We're going to need more _evidence._ "

 

-the end-


End file.
